


trust me you'll be lonely

by avosettas



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Canon - Musical, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Panic Attacks, Scrabble, Verbal Abuse, juno SUCKS this is a JUNO HATE ZONE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22356436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas
Summary: Sometimes he and Adam played board games while Barbara and Lydia chatted, mostly Scrabble. The tiles clicking hid the low conversation that they had, but Betelgeuse wasn’t a very good speller, and in a two person game, it was a little counterproductive to ask for Adam to check his spelling.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland
Comments: 5
Kudos: 237





	trust me you'll be lonely

**Author's Note:**

> thank you soda @sodalite-fulll on tumblr for helping my hash out my headcanons!  
> if you wanna hit me up on tumblr im over @asriells
> 
> may be slightly ooc and also im totally projecting onto bj lmfao

Sometimes it was nice to hear Lydia talk about her mom. Other times it was weird. 

It was just hard to grasp the idea that some people actually had mothers who _showed_ their love. The closest thing Betelgeuse had ever had was his mother letting him back into the house in the morning if he’d missed his curfew. They’d lived in a rural part of the Netherworld when he was a child, rife with sandworms. The porch didn’t exactly act as a strong barrier. 

Either way. It was strange to hear Lydia talk about her mom actually showing her affection. 

Mostly, he didn’t contribute to the conversations - these were mostly held in the attic, because Charles was still quiet about Emily’s death. Barbara was willing to talk about it, and so Lydia went to her. Betelgeuse would just follow, desperate for something to do. 

Sometimes he and Adam played board games while Barbara and Lydia chatted, mostly Scrabble. The tiles clicking hid the low conversation that they had, but Betelgeuse wasn’t a very good speller, and in a two person game, it was a little counterproductive to ask for Adam to check his spelling. 

Today, he’s still got seven letters. K Qu E A S M Y.  
If he had another “K” he could spell cake. Or maybe it was a “C”. 

Betelgeuse settles for the word “easy”. The tiles click quietly and his bitten nails scratch the Scrabble board slightly as he places them. There’s an “S” he can use that Adam’s already put down, and his “E” will be on a double letter score. 

E S Y. Easy. 

Adam cocks his head. “Essee?” 

“Easy,” Betelgeuse replies, maybe a tad grumpily, hanging his head a bit. 

“Ah,” Adam nods. “There’s an ‘A’ in ‘easy’.” 

“What?! Where?” 

“Just move the ‘E’ over one space, the ‘A’ goes between the ‘E’ and the ‘S’.” 

_You failed again? What kind of idiot mixes up his vowels?_  
_It’s spelled diff’rent than it sounds, ma…_  
_What am I keeping you in school for, Lawrence? You’re going to end up a deadbeat anyway._

His hands shake as he moves the tiles like Adam instructed. The “A” flies from his fingers.

_I paid good money for that, Lawrence._  
_I didn’t mean to drop it, ma._

“-juice. Betelgeuse.” When did Lydia and Barbara move? “Betelgeuse,” Barbara tries again. 

“...Lawrence?” Adam tries quietly. Betelgeuse feels himself flinch. 

_Never done anything right, in your miserable life, Lawrence._  
_’M deadborn, ma._ Sometimes he wasn’t sure if she quite remembered, this deep into the booze.  
_Get out of here._ When he’d come back the next morning, his mother was nowhere to be found. 

Just a suicide note and a death certificate that listed her number in the Netherworld’s stupid beaureaucratic system. _If you’re in this house when I get back, Lawrence, I’ll kill you myself._

So he’d started calling himself by his middle name, Betelgeuse. His mother had never used it. 

He had only visited once, after she’d come back. _Betelgeuse? Can you even spell that, Lawrence?_  
_..._  
_That’s what I thought, you good-for-nothing deadbeat._ Alcohol would leak out the slit in her throat as she spoke. _Then again, you couldn’t even spell your first name. It’s a perfectly good name, Lawrence, I don’t know why you don’t like it._

And then she’d made it so “Betelgeuse” was the name that had power over him. 

“Lawrence?” Adam tries again, gently shaking Betelgeuse’s shoulder. When had he hunched over like this? Betelgeuse grabs his hand, hard enough to bruise. 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he wheezes. She hadn’t really succeeded, trying to make “Betelgeuse” the only name that had power for him. Hearing his first name if he wasn’t prepared made it feel like he had cotton in his entire fucking head. 

He was deadborn and he’d only died twice. Hearing his first name made it feel like the noose from his first death was around his neck again. 

“Betelgeuse?” Lydia, this time. “Beej, are you okay?” 

The fucking broken vertebrae - his head is trying to spin like it does when he panics. Someone reaches forward - Barbara, he thinks, the hands are small and cold - and gently steadies his head, probably to make him look up, but it stops his entire skull from spinning.  
“Don’t call me my first name,” he repeats.

“We won’t.” Lydia assures him. Her hand is warm on her arm, and he leans into the touch slightly. “What happened, Beej?” 

“I don’t want to play Scrabble ever again.” Vaguely, he wonders if his mother’s body had reformed yet. 

She’d probably be back. 

“Betelgeuse,” Barbara says gently. 

“Jesus, I can’t spell,” Betelgeuse says finally, plastering a grin over his face. It’s obvious that Barbara and Adam aren’t convinced, and Lydia just frowns at him. 

“Fiiiiiine,” he whines, trying to make it seem more like an inconvenience than something he genuinely does not want to talk about. 

“Wait, you really don’t have to tell us if you don’t want,” Adam says quickly. “But no Scrabble, and no calling you by your first name, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then that’s all we need to know.”


End file.
